


Hey Pretty: The Saleen S7 Remix

by Firelightmystic



Series: Hey Pretty [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, Car Sex, How To Get Out of a Ticket, M/M, Pre-Iron Man, Secret Identity, Top Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 12:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14260980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firelightmystic/pseuds/Firelightmystic
Summary: Tony's got a new ride, and so does Steve.





	Hey Pretty: The Saleen S7 Remix

**Author's Note:**

> For SirSapling. This is all your fault. 
> 
> Special thanks to Enki, FestiveFerret, Serinah, SilverInStars, Shu, and Wynnesome, without whom I would only be 300 words in and staring blankly at a screen. You all rock! 
> 
> Extra special thanks (and whatever passes for my soul these days) to WhenasInSilks for the amazing beta work. Any errors are because I am hard-headed.

 

It was far too late for this, if he was going to be a responsible adult. Responsible adults didn’t buy million-dollar super-cars and race them along the Pacific coast, though, so Tony figured he was off the hook for feeling bad about it. Yeah, it was late, but it was a Saleen S7 Twin Turbo Le Mans and if you have a car with 1,500 horsepower on your hands that could go 0-60 in 2.9 seconds, you’re meant to go jetting off into the horizon with the pedal to the metal. Besides, he’d been plenty damn responsible already, given that he’d actually attended all the meetings he’d scheduled with various Silicon Valley think tanks and walked away with two very lucrative partnerships. If that didn’t legitimize his trip, nothing would. 

Tony slouched down lower into the black leather bucket seat and grinned as he felt the car approach the threshold for the next gear. Jesus, it was _just like_ driving a race car. He shifted to the next gear, increasing his speed, and reveled in the knowledge that he was going too fast but managing to handle it anyway. It felt a little flying, the way the trees around him blurred as he sped through, and the wind noise, barely covered up by the driving guitar and drums of Bush’s _Machinehead_. 

He felt himself pumping the car in and out of turns as he pushed the Saleen for _more_ , and she surrendered to his command easily, revving higher and higher as he edged past 100 mph. Normally cars would begin to pull right or left, maybe even begin to shake and rattle as they proved unequal to the task of high speeds, but Steve Saleen knew how to build a car, and the first thing that Tony had done when they’d dropped his new baby off was take her into his garage and build upon already excellent work. She was demon red and even faster now, like a rocket, and a wild rowdy thing underneath that sleek and graceful exterior. 

Mae. He was going to name her Mae, in honor of Mae Jemison, who rocketed into space, and Mae West and Mae Questal, respectively the original bad-girl starlet and voice of Betty Boop, the original bad-girl cartoon. Triple-layered pun. Inordinately pleased with himself, Tony stroked a hand over the gearshift, caressing the custom silver head lovingly as his demon-girl purred for him. Yeah, baby. Yeah. 

 

* * *

 

Steve leaned over the front of his motorcycle, idly rocking one leather-booted leg back and forth as he looked up into the night sky and wondered, yet again, what meaning his life had now. There’d been a time, once, when he never expected to make 20, and then, during the war, he’d never expected to see 25. Global scale warfare being what it was, and the Invaders being who they were, any moment might have been their last. He’d thought he’d actually seen the last of his time when he went down in the ocean, but Fate was a cruel and fickle mistress, and he’d been pulled out far into a future he’d never even considered, young and healthy and entirely alone. 

Christ, he really _was_ alone. Bucky was gone, Peggy was gone, all the Invaders save maybe Namor were gone--and who even _knew_ where Namor was--and all he had left was the skin on his back, a slew of fancy medals, and a hefty pension.

He didn’t even have the luxury of his own damn name anymore. Steve Rogers was dead because the world was through with Captain America, and Steven Grant walked in his place. Steve had floundered at first, unsure what to do with his life, so he’d traveled a bit, studied a lot, and in between the mad rush to learn as much as possible about the new era he was in and escape the crushing weight of being utterly alone in it, he’d gone right back into public service as an officer of the law, because he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to do _something_ useful with his life. Turned out useful was the California Highway Patrol, because he couldn’t even go back home, oh no. The government had stashed him in California, way on the opposite side of the nation, and left him to his own devices.

At least the motorcycle was nice. 

Steve huffed out a bitter chuckle, and looked back up at night sky, reveling in the mild breeze and crisp night air. He started up his bike again, resigned to ending yet another routine day by going home and crawling into a too-soft bed while he waited for his life to become meaningful again, when a sleek red car blurred by, its driver shooting past like they were immortal and didn’t have to worry about minor inconveniences like traffic laws or crashing and going out in a ball of fire and scattered car parts. 

Steve immediately revved up his bike and took off after the idiot. He hated writing tickets--there had to exist far better uses of his time--but the only way the state would let him keep the motorcycle was if he actually did the duties that came with it. Besides, this idiot was clearly asking for it, and Steve was in just a bad enough mood to deliver. 

 

* * *

 

Tony groaned as garish red and blue lights pulled out behind him, kicked on his blinkers to indicate to the cop behind him that no, he did not wish to engage in a high-speed chase, and continued to drive until he reached a wide enough stretch of road that they wouldn’t be murdered by a random driver barreling through in the dead of night. 

Tony stopped partially off-road next to a small copse of trees along the wider edge of the road and made himself comfortable. The mp3 playlist switched over from Bush to Stone Temple Pilots, and Tony pettily decided that the cop wasn’t worth turning down _Interstate Love Song_ for. Leave it to the police to ruin a good time. 

Tony glanced back out of his rearview mirror and perked up in interest as he took in a rather magnificent ass clad in tan uniform pants so tight they must have been painted on, tucked into a pair of leather boots. God, what a view. Tony blinked in shock as the cop straightened up from the saddle box where he’d dug a flashlight out and strode over towards the car. 

Even in the low to non-existent light, Tony could tell the man was absolutely ripped. That poor shirt looked like it was staying buttoned solely by wishes and hope. A million jokes about Officer See-more Butts filled his mind but Tony pushed them aside, suddenly interested in how this played out. 

Tony rolled down his window and blinked as those muscled legs filled his view. Where the hell did the highway patrol find this guy? Chippendales? There was some poor revue spot in Vegas missing their headliner. A moment later and a face like a dream filled his vision. Blond hair, a face that looked like it was chiseled by one of the Italian masters, and a stern frown on lips that were too thick and lush to be good for anything except pouting. Or sucking dick. 

“I’m Sergeant Steven Grant with the California Highway Patrol. License and registration.” 

Oh. 

Hey. Hello there, long-forgotten authority kink. How’s tricks these days?

Tony shifted in his seat, playing it off as a slouch and not the desperate attempt to avoid springing wood it actually was. So, yeah, that 1,500 horsepower had hit him harder than he thought, and with it came a sense of devil-may-care attitude and a heaping dose of raw mischief besides. 

Tony handed both over, rolling his eyes as the patrol officer shone the light straight into the car and almost directly into his eyes. 

Cute, but an asshole.

The officer studied his license for a long moment, then pinned him with a disgusted glare. “Mr. Stark, what is _wrong_ with you? Do you have any idea how fast you were going out here?” 

There was an urge Tony had sometimes to act out. Maybe it was mischief, or the end result of being spoiled, or simple random whimsy. Maybe it was because he was Tony Fucking Stark ™, and he could get away with murder. Whatever it was, it reared its head and the words were out of his mouth before he could even contemplate censoring them. 

"No, but I have an idea how fast you might be able to get me off." Tony was entirely unrepentant and offered up his best smirk--the one that had landed him in the middle of a frisky pile of cheerleaders the last time he was at a Super Bowl after-party. 

Officer Grant’s expression went stern, and Tony could already feel the lecture brewing. Would this guy be the kind to just tear into somebody and rip them a new one, or would he be condescendingly long-winded? Maybe he would just cuss for a while and storm off--those were always fun. Oh hell, maybe it would be disappointed looks and moralizing about road safety. 

This guy was probably a master of disappointed looks--there was a crinkle between his brows that only formed from repeated use--and that only made Tony more interested.

He had always been a sucker for pretty eyes and a bitchy attitude, and those deep blue eyes paired with the pouty frown were a direct challenge, and he was not a man to resist temptation. God, he could fuck that look right off the CHP’s poster boy. 

Time to rile him up a bit, Tony decided.

He allowed his gaze to travel lazily all the way down and back up the officer’s body before he tossed out the filthiest leer in his repertoire and followed it up with a roguish wink. 

“I knew the state was having budget problems, officer, but I'd think they'd be able to spring for some clothes in the proper size. I dohave to say the strippergram look really works for you...it's really working for me right now, too, I mean, _wow,_ that's a lot of muscle there."

 

* * *

 

Steve was actually left speechless for a moment. He'd seen it all--crying, pleading, anger, and in one particularly awful incident, physical illness. 

He'd never been so blatantly propositioned before. Part of him was secretly thrilled because he’d _never_ gotten such attention before, and it was very flattering in a way. Especially because this was Tony Stark, and while he was a playboy, Stark was also incredibly selective if gossip could be trusted. Still, he was technically on duty, and no matter how sexy the guy might or might not be, there was no way he was going to let the speeding slide.

Besides, this was _a traffic stop._ He _really_ shouldn’t even be contemplating it at all. Time to get back on track, Rogers. 

Steve hitched his mirrored shades down to pin Stark with a sharp look. "Try fast enough to get you directly to jail, if you don't respect an officer of the law, Mr. Stark.”

“Will you use your nightstick on me?”

Steve rolled his eyes and folded his arms, and the khaki uniform top he wore--already snug on his body--stretched tighter. He’d been complaining for over a year that the uniforms didn’t fit him properly, but no one ever did anything except give him shit for being so damn large or look at him like he was crazy. And no, he wasn’t unaware of all the covert (usually covert) attention it got him. He was actually pretty certain someone was deliberately sizing everything wrong for him, but what could he do about it? 

He gave himself a mental pat on the back for not losing his patience with Stark’s decidedly overt perusal and returned to his standard traffic stop script, as if he could brazen out normalcy.

“Mr. Stark, you were going way too fast--”

“I could take it slower for you, Officer Grant.”

Okay, even if the innuendo hadn’t been blatant, the blown kiss and eyebrow waggle was. Stark had to be drunk or high--no one was this deliberately suggestive during a traffic stop. 

Steve sighed and knocked lightly against the top of the car’s roof. “Mr. Stark, I’m going to need you to exit the vehicle and perform a few tests for me.”

Stark turned off the car and opened up the door, and Steve jumped back. He’d been unprepared for the door to swing up, not out. He didn’t know car doors _did that_ these days... 

“I promise you, I'm sober, officer. My consent for a full-body search is both enthusiastic and contingent upon you doing a thorough job of it.”

Any fascination he had with the car quickly faded as Stark slid out in a negligently graceful move.

Steve didn't know if it was the car, the man, or the insanely lethal combination of both that did it for him, but whatever it was left him repressing a full body shudder as all his senses clicked over to ‘Oh. Hell. Yes.’

The car...he’d never _seen_ a car like this one before, all sleek curves and sharp edges and blatant power. He’d been secretly impressed with the way the car zipped along the sinuous beauty that was Mulholland, taking each turn tight and precise and graceful, arrogant in the execution and deservedly so. Stark hadn’t dipped below 70, often stayed above 90, uncaring and unafraid because he had gentled this magnificent beast of a car to his touch, and that assurance bled through everything. 

Steve loved this era’s cars, and this one was more beautiful than anything he’d set his eyes on, the metallic red super-car with its iridescent sheen glinted in the pale moonlight, the darker patches of dark gray carbon fiber finish on the roof, front hood, and intake fins gone black in the night and adding a mysterious depth to the Saleen’s overall appearance. It was still flashy and absolutely ostentatious, but it was so damn pretty, and it worked for Stark, somehow. 

Maybe it was because Stark somehow matched the car in sheer presence. 

For a brief moment, Steve was reminded of Namor, and the ability he had to make someone like and hate him all in one go. Too often, he’d heard people go on about “that damn Namor”, unable to comprehend how they always ended up keeping him around and even enjoying his presence, but as soon as he was gone sanity returned and they could quite cheerfully strangle him. 

Stark _clearly_ had more swagger and charm, but it also seemed natural with him, like there was no artifice. There was no denying the ego, but it was tempered with an inherent charisma that made for a potent effect. It was hard to resist genuine, even if it was genuine Trouble. 

Steve had the feeling he might actually be in trouble because he had a type, and gorgeous and feisty was it. 

Stark was tall, just over 6 feet, and well built. His hair was thick and jet black, styled deliberately reckless in the way that seemed so popular amongst celebrities these days. Steve took in the carefully sculpted eyebrows (they had to be, he refused to believe that was just how they grew) and the meticulously styled van dyke, and flicked his gaze back up to stare into dark blue eyes gone bright with mischief. 

He really was very good looking. Steve held onto his best poker face and did another, longer once over, as if he were checking for visual cues of intoxication. Stark’s black suit jacket that was tailored too snug to his frame to be anything other than a tease or invitation, the black vest and black shirt underneath that should have been overwhelming but somehow worked, and the gleaming diamond pin that accented the black tie was a perfect accent to the whole ensemble. 

Steve kind of wanted to fuck him. 

“Here, let me help you out, Steve.” Stark turned around and braced himself against the side of his car, posing to show off his admittedly nice rear as he spread his legs. It was indecent, and the man was a menace. 

“It’s Officer Grant to you, Mr. Stark, and I’d appreciate some proper respect and decorum out of you.” 

“Oh _Steve,_ I could get down on my knees and properly respect your authority so much.” Stark’s wicked smile was powerful enough to lead a saint astray. “Do you want me to call you ‘ _sir’?_ ”

Jesus. 

“I should arrest you.”

"I like my cuffs extra-tight, darling. Like your uniform.” 

The expression on Stark’s face when he turned to look at him over his shoulder was just this side of hopeful, and honestly the whole situation was just so ridiculous now that Steve couldn’t help the tiny huff of laughter that escaped him. He _definitely_ wanted to fuck him. 

Steve forced himself to remain impassive, though he was beginning to enjoy the whole situation. What a way to end his shift. 

“I’m writing you a ticket.”

“You _could_ write me a ticket.” Stark agreed, his voice a mischievous pur. “But I’m rich, you wouldn’t even put a dent in my bank account. Or, I can pay for this some other way and you could really make sure I… learn my lesson?”

Steve just stared at Stark for a long moment, expression completely blank. 

This couldn’t be real life. Steve lifted his glasses to the top of head in order to look at Stark unimpeded. “Did you just offer me sex to not write you a ticket?”

Stark grinned. “I’m offering you legendary sex on top of a million-dollar car to not write me a ticket. Tickets are boring, and you’re unfairly hot, and I am compelled to not let the opportunity pass.” 

Steve had to pause for a second to mentally regroup. Tony Stark was offering him sex, right here, right now, on a lark. He should say no, call in for a car, and have him shipped right off to the nearest station. On the other hand...what an opportunity it was. Steve had never asked for much in his life, and it would be fun to live a little, like his fellow officers insisted. He’d been _so good,_ fighting the good fight and serving his country. He should’ve been _dead_ , but instead here he was, forgotten and alone with nothing to show for it but a few scavenged belongings from his past and a gnawing sense of incompletion, as if he was just getting by until life was ready for him again. 

Steve considered. Tony Stark. This could be a one-off encounter, and they’d be done with each other. Just… an exciting interlude in the yawning sterility that was his life. Stark was certainly willing enough, and the architect of this encounter. No coercion at all. 

He didn’t get to keep things, just memories. At least his perfect recall meant he’d have something to trot out on his lonelier nights. 

Stark--Tony, Jesus, if he was considering this he was not going to be calling him by his last name-- _Tony_ must have caught on to his indecision, because he shrugged eloquently and wagged a finger back and forth like a metronome. “Tick tock, Officer Beefcake. You can write me a ticket and just pretend none of this happened and I’ll go on my merry way, but if you want you some, ball’s in your court.” 

Steve wanted. It was the dumbest thing he’d done since he’d been thawed out, possibly even before he’d gone down in the first place, and it was irresponsible and illicit and he _wanted_ Tony, and the opportunity was there…

Steve’s feet made up his mind for him, because before he even really registered it, Steve was standing directly in Tony’s personal space, his hands resting on the man’s hips. _God_ , Tony smelled good. Steve basked in the woodsy tobacco, vanilla, and sandalwood base notes of Tony’s cologne, and the faint tang of metal hidden beneath that, all mingled in with the lighter musk of Tony’s own scent, staring into Tony’s blue eyes. 

Tony trailed one hand up the buttons of his uniform and grabbed onto his shirt to draw him flush against his body. “Well, hey there.”

Steve stared hard at Tony. “This is a one time deal, got it?”

Tony smirked. “Don’t cheat yourself out of a second helping, darling. One time’s usually never enough with me.”

Steve didn’t doubt it. “Look, Tony, this is serious. I can’t have this getting out. I’d be out on my ass.” If not worse. Retired or no, he was Captain America, and that came with a heavy burden of responsibility that he’d never be entirely free of. This one time was too dangerous in and of itself. 

“I know all too well how quickly things get out of control when rumor and hearsay get involved. I can be discreet.” 

Relieved, Steve sagged into Tony’s space, close enough to share the same air, but not touching each other’s lips yet. “Thank you.” 

“Seal the deal with a kiss, officer?”

Steve shuddered at the loaded phrasing and complied, kissing Tony for all he was worth. 

When they finally broke free, Tony trailed a finger across Steve’s lips, the pale circle of light from Steve’s flashlight leaving his face partially shadowed. 

“Take a ride with me?” 

Steve smiled softly and nodded. “Yeah. I think I will.” 

Tony pulled his wallet out of an inner pocket in his jacket and opened it up, producing a string of condoms. The wallet went back in his pocket, and Tony reached for the other side and returned with a small tube of what Steve pretty quickly figured out had to be lube. 

 

* * *

 

Items in hand, Tony leaned into Steve, nuzzling against the side of the man’s neck for a moment just to luxuriate in the scent of cold air and the surprisingly clean scent of Steve. His skin was incredibly smooth, like he shaved especially close and Tony had to wonder just what kind of razor the man was using to get the effect.

He couldn’t pick up any sort of aftershave, not even anything as pedestrian as Old Spice or--thank all the stars--Axe. Just the fresh scent of...lemongrass? No, aloe vera, and the barest hint of spearmint behind it. Nothing overwhelming, just cool and clean, and somehow perfect for Steve. It was a very good blend for him, Tony mused, and pressed a soft kiss against the racing pulse in Steve’s neck, the tip of his tongue dipping out to teasingly lick, and was rewarded with Steve shuddering hard against him, those deliciously large hands convulsively locking onto his hips and pulling him even closer. 

Shit, the man was like a furnace. Tony tried to shift to catch more of the cool breeze but utterly failed, caught up tight against Steve as he was, and the hot and heavy weight of of the larger man against him sent a thrill up his spine as he visualized all the many, wonderful, perfect ways Steve could take him apart, and just how wonderful it would feel to be pinned under that heavy and demanding body as it moved over him with carnal purpose. Steve probably fucked like a tank, and Tony was certain that if circumstances ever allowed him an opportunity to get Officer Grant actually inside him, he’d be absolutely wrecked by the end of it. 

It was a very good thought, and Tony found himself burying his hands in Steve’s hair and tilting his head down so that he could kiss him properly, all tongue and wet, molten heat and… and… and Steve had moved his hands down to his ass and Tony couldn’t keep back the throaty groan that worked its way out of his chest as he was rocked against the cop’s almost impossibly large erection. 

Holy fuck, he didn’t know they _made_ them like that _._

Steve broke the kiss and moved to lick and nibble at Tony’s ear as he walked them backwards towards the S7, somehow still managing to remain in control while Tony felt like he was about to go off at any moment, and he would resent it, he would, but that delicious grinding roll of Steve’s hips was making it hard to hold onto any sort of ill will. Or reason. Or restraint. “Oh fuck me, you’re bringing your A-game, sir.” 

Steve’s tongue traced the inner whorl of his ear and chucked at Tony’s soft gasp. “Oh, I would, Stark, I would, I really want to fuck you right through the hood of this insanely expensive mid-life crisis and to the ground, but I would break you in half if I tried it right now. We don’t have the time or space or near enough lube for me to get you ready, so this is _your_ show.” Steve’s voice was low and husky and challenging, thick with want. “Show me a good time, why don’t you, gorgeous?” 

Tony jolted convulsively against him, harder than he’d ever been in his life and horrified because they were still fully clothed, and he had damn near come in his pants. Holy shit, this wasn’t happening, he was Tony Fucking Stark ™, and _he_ wasn’t supposed to be the one about to beg for it.

“Holy shit, where did you _come from_?”

“Brooklyn.” Steve’s native accent came through in all its glory, and Tony damn near died. 

“How in the everloving hell did you end up out here?” Tony demanded, resting his forehead against Steve’s collarbone while the man made impressively short work of undoing his belt buckle. 

“Army. I never managed to work my way back home after I got out.” 

Tony had a sudden deep and abiding need to see Steve in military dress, tried to imagine it, and let out an appreciative noise as he savored the mental image. _“God bless America.”_

Steve laughed, bright and genuine, and good goddamn, but didn’t that take a few years off the man’s face. He’d originally pegged him at early thirties, but Tony wouldn't put Steve past twenty-eight now. They were of an age and Steve, Tony realized, was an achingly common byproduct of war: a veteran who had obviously gone through too much far too fast and never really come home. Tony decided right then and there that he was going to give Officer Steve Grant the time of his life.

“Let me blow you,” Tony demanded, gnawing on his bottom lip as he stared straight at Steve’s crotch. He _really, really_ wanted to.

Tony reached for Steve’s pants, and taking the lack of tasing or pepper spray as tacit permission, quickly unbuttoned them and yanked them down as far as they would go--which wasn’t very far since those ridiculously tight uniform pants tucked straight into Steve’s boots--as he sank to his knees in front of the Saleen. Tony managed to snag Steve’s black briefs along with the tan pants, and there his erection was, bobbing proudly out in the open for the whole world to see.

“What the hell, is this a third elbow??” Tony reared back slightly. He’d realized that Steve was big, but he’d apparently failed to give enough thought to just what that massive ridge in Steve’s pants was all about. Fuck. Steve was definitely the largest Tony had ever encountered. Easily. 

Tony stroked up one side and down the other with the back of his hand, trying to get a decent feel for Steve’s sizing. Not too long, Tony decided, only an inch or two above average, but the width…oh _wow._ Steve was thick, possibly twice the size of anyone else Tony had encountered, and as he lightly ran his hand up and down the hot, hard length Tony was unable to stop himself from spreading the already leaking precome across Steve’s blunt head. 

Steve hissed and braced his hands on either side of the Saleen, then shifted, trying to spread his legs wider. The cloth around his legs pulled tight, and Steve swore under his breath when it became apparent that he was entirely unable to move his legs more than a foot apart. He was trapped in his own damn clothes. Tony caught on almost immediately and let out a darkly amused huff of laughter.

“Better hold on, Steve.”

Tony slid his hands up Steve’s bared legs, gripping the hard muscles there in order to anchor himself, and licked an inquisitive stripe from the base of Steve’s cock to the tip, getting a feel for the lay of the land, as it were. Steve tasted salty and bitter, but on the tail end of that was an oddly sweet note, like…apple? Tony leaned back in and slowly took Steve into his mouth, using his tongue to rub along the underside of that weighty hardness and draw him in further. Steve swore softly and leaned forward, pushing his way deeper into Tony’s mouth. 

Tony worked Steve’s dick slowly, pulling back until Steve was almost entirely exposed to the cool night air, then guiding him deeper in until his nose could just barely nestle the coarse hairs covering Steve’s groin. Steve was quiet, his breath coming in deep panting gasps that belied his obvious excitement and had absolutely no right sounding as enticing as they did. 

What Steve deserved, Tony decided, was a bit of payback. _He_ was the playboy here, thank you, and sassy cops who got too damned full of themselves and talked shit about what he personally could or couldn’t take needed to be put back in line. Tony continued, persistently gentle as Steve relaxed even more into it, humming in encouragement as the cop’s hips began to shift back and forth as he fell into Tony’s rhythm. 

Tony let Steve sink into that gentle ebb and flow of pleasure, and then hollowed his cheeks and s _ucked_. A harsh, guttural cry ripped out of Steve as his knees buckled, and for a moment Tony thought he would have to duck out the way or catch a knee to the face, but Steve had good reflexes, locking his legs as far apart as they would go and planting his hands flat on the Saleen so that he was arched safely over Tony’s head. 

Which meant that Steve couldn’t move at all now without either causing a disaster or ripping his pants apart, and there was no way he was near strong enough to do that. The poor sucker was entirely at Tony’s mercy, and that was just how he wanted it. 

Tony pulled back and shot a wickedly triumphant grin up at Steve, who was looking dazed and startled, and set back at his task with obscene enthusiasm, unleashing a decade’s worth of carnal prowess that Steve had no other option but to endure. 

Tony went slow when Steve urged him to go faster and upped the pace when Steve adjusted to the slower, more languid pace. He used tongue and hands to urge Steve towards greater heights, pulled off and used feather-light strokes and teasing caresses to calm him back down, moving perfectly contrary to whatever Steve indicated he wanted. Tony was merciless, reveling in the increasingly frantic whimpers, moans, and profane litanies that dropped from Steve’s lips. 

Tony relaxed into the task, time blurring around him as he danced Steve towards the edge of an orgasm only to lead him away again and again. It became a bit of an experiment for him, and Tony greedily pursued his data. 

Did Steve like having his balls fondled? Not by themselves, but he definitely approved of a light massage against them while Tony played with his perineum. Pressing against it earned Tony shudders, while a gentle rub delivered soft, needy gasps. A tickling drag over it made Steve beg for more pressure, and a harder touch made Steve protest even as he ground down further on Tony’s hand. 

The slower Tony went, the higher Steve’s voice climbed as he demanded more. He went fast, and Steve’s voice went low and guttural as he moaned Tony’s name. Licking the head of Steve’s cock got him “please, please, _please,_ ” and sucking it sent the man howling for God. Tony didn’t much think there was anyone listening, but he was all about helping out his fellow man so he would take Steve deep during those moments and _hum_ , and if God didn’t hear it, then surely at least the aliens the next galaxy over picked up Steve’s screaming and could pass the message along. The trick was all in the pitch; the lower register humming was the way to go, because the higher registers just meant Steve whimpered and sobbed desperately as he attempted to pump his hips with little success. He was just too off balance, and Tony exploited that ruthlessly.

There was a tell--a flutter in the muscle on the right side of Steve’s pelvic bone--that he quickly figured out meant that Steve was very close, and that’s when Tony would pull away and switch tactics. No reason to end the fun early, even if Steve did get grumpy about things and devolve into frenzied demands and agitated cussing.

There was a shifting of weight during one such moment, and then a massive hand tangled in Tony’s hair, the blunt edges of roughened fingertips holding his head in place as Steve finally let go of what little restraint he had left and took control. Steve let out a throaty, satisfied moan and began to fuck his mouth, running roughshod over Tony’s attempts to regain the upper hand. 

Well. He could forgive his pushiness. 

He’d put Steve through a lot, hadn’t he?

Tony drew in a deep breath through his nose and relaxed his throat, and the long, incredulous, nigh orgasmic noise Steve produced made Tony regret not having his phone out. A sound like that needed to be preserved, and he would have fucking recorded it and set it as his text alert tone because _holy shit_. 

For a moment, Tony thought Steve actually _was_ climaxing, but no, he was just the sort that produced inordinate amounts of precome, the unusual but not unpleasant taste of him thick in his throat and Tony was certain he would never taste an apple again without getting harder than a rock. 

Okay, yeah, he needed to get Steve prepped and ready for him fucking _immediately._ Tony tried to tug away from Steve’s cock, had to try it twice more before Steve paid attention. “Okay, baby, okay, I’m going to get you ready now, okay? Do you still want me in you?”

Steve stared down at him with lust-crazed eyes for a moment, that gorgeous blue almost entirely gone, his pupils were blown so wide. Tony opened his mouth to speak but let out a startled yelp instead as Steve grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him to his feet. 

“ _Wow_ , how the fuck strong are y--mmmmph!” Tony gave up trying to talk and just held onto Steve’s biceps as the cop tried to crawl down Tony’s mouth by way of the filthiest kiss ever known. There was no grace or artistry to it, just Steve mashing his lips against Tony’s and going to town, his tongue sweeping into his mouth and seeking out every trace of himself he could reach. 

When Steve finally pulled away, Tony was light-headed and shaky on his feet. Left momentarily unsure of what he was supposed to do, Tony gaped at Steve, who smirked and gave him another quick kiss. 

“Lube, Tony. You were going to fuck me?” 

Oh shit, yes, yes that was a thing, that was a thing that was happening right the fuck now. Tony’s mental workings recovered from the stall out, and he was all action again. 

“Okay, fuck, okay gorgeous, here, lay down.” 

Tony half pushed, half shoved Steve toward his car, laughing as he frantically yanked off one of his boots in order to get one of his pants legs off so that he could actually have room to move. 

Steve made himself comfortable on the hood of the car, turning to glance back at Tony. 

“ _Hurry._ ”

Holy shit. 

Tony was there in a flash, flicking the tube open with his free hand and using the glowing blue led light of his watch to provide some extra light as he sought out Steve’s hole. Once located, Tony didn’t waste time with theatrics or teasing and set about stretching Steve as much as he could. Steve was just as eager as Tony was, urging him onward as he managed to work in one finger, then another. He had to make this good for Steve.

 

* * *

 

Tony had great fingers. 

They were long, dextrous, and--especially important--well manicured. It was never a good thing to have raggedy nails poking around inside your most sensitive parts, and Steve had been on the wrong end of poorly maintained hands before. Tony’s hands were soft and only slightly calloused, and most of that only around the pads of his fingers. Realizing that he didn’t have that particular problem to worry about, Steve found it easier to relax around Tony’s fingers. 

The no-nonsense method Tony used was a complete contrast to the earlier teasing, and Steve supposed that Tony was feeling pretty worked up himself--certainly the dazed expression on his face after Steve had finished kissing him was telling. 

Steve jerked away from Tony when he pressed another finger in, the sensation too much too fast, and rocked his hips this way and that to assist with the stretching as Tony murmured an apology and went back down to two fingers. It took a few more false starts, but Tony finally got a third finger in and Steve gripped the ridges of the Saleen’s hood as he worked through the discomfort, hoping he didn’t do any lasting damage to the car. 

He did not want to have to explain away body damage to Tony’s brand-new million dollar car. 

He _really_ didn’t want to explain to the Defense Department that they had to swear in Tony Stark about Captain America because he got too frisky on a supercar. 

The fourth finger was worse, and Steve was certain he’d be feeling it for a while, but hey, it was long past time the serum worked out in his favor, and if he could heal up stab wounds within hours, then a bit of discomfort was the least of his worries. 

Luckily, Tony was considerate, and actually really smart, because what he lacked in taking his time, he compensated for in over-generous application of lube and being quick in searching out his prostate. Steve was firmly in support of that sort of efficiency. 

Following Steve’s enthusiastic advice, Tony crooked his fingers and brushed against that amazing bundle of nerves he’d sought out. Steve’s vision went white. Tony continued to pump his fingers in and out of him, adding more lube to the mix, not that Steve was in any sort of condition to complain. 

It was all rapidly becoming too much for him--he’d been right at the edge from the gloriously torturous blow job, and any lost ground from the initial discomfort of being prepped had been overridden by the fact that Tony seemed to be operating under the delusion that fingering him to incoherency was the end game. 

Steve opened his mouth to set the record straight on that--he was coming on Tony’s cock or down his throat--but ended up throwing back his head and damn near _howling_ as Tony put just enough pressure on his prostate to send him spiraling over the edge into an orgasm. 

 

* * *

 

God, even the man’s ass was perfect, Tony mused, enjoying the sight of Steve blissed out and bent over the hood of the Saleen. Tony stroked a hand over the globes of Steve’s ass, marveling at the masterpiece before him. Firm, well sized, and the cutest little dimple right above his right cheek. After a few quiet minutes, Steve began to stir again, and Tony leaned over his back in order to press a kiss just below his earlobe. “You came so prettily for me, Steve, so prettily. Do you think you can take me?” 

Steve pushed back and up into Tony, urging the man on as he rocked against him, enjoying the sharper-edged pleasure in the wake of his orgasm. The serum meant he could--and usually would--go off twice in a row, and the second one was always so intense. Great sex had already redeemed the day in his eyes, but the sudden chance to serve Tony back some of his own was the cherry on top. “Sure. Think you can do better than your driving and not come too fast?”

Steve smirked to himself at the sudden silence behind him. 

“You little _shit_ ,” Tony snarled, ripping open one of the condom packets. The noise of the crinkling foil triggered an almost Pavlovian response in Steve, who groaned throatily in anticipation and licked his lips, eyes fluttering closed. 

“ _Please._ ”

Tony said nothing, merely lined himself up with the crack of Steve’s ass and let himself hang there, hot and heavy, rubbing against Steve’s pucker but not even attempting to shift himself inside. Long seconds passed as Steve got more and more keyed up, until he was finally rubbing against the hood of the Saleen. The combination of his spend and the waxed metal created the perfect surface for him to move against, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut and continued to writhe and squirm against the Saleen in counterpoint to Tony’s teasing.

“Do you like my car, Steve?” 

Steve jolted, surprised to have Tony’s voice so close to his ear. He’d been so lost in trying to get any kind of relief he hadn’t realized Tony had moved. He moaned Tony’s name and rocked even more insistently against the Saleen, desperate for any kind of simulation that would push him back over the edge he was still stuck on.

“Do you have _any_ idea how hot you are like this?” Tony’s breath was hot in his ear, and Steve whined in the back of his throat as he sped up, thrilling in the sensation because it was so good, hating it because it was so far from what he really wanted. 

“Faster Steve, my demon-girl’s made for speed, she can take it.”

Steve’s mouth fell open in a soundless scream as he let himself be led by Tony’s increasingly rushed nudging of his back. He was thrusting in earnest now, unable to stop himself as Tony turned him into the architect of his own torment.

“Harder Steve, like that, show me more.”

Steve was leaking so much now, he knew he was, he was making such a mess of the car, and it only served to make him slide even easier over the hood, let him make the most of the pressure and puddle of warmth beneath him, and none of it did him any damn good. More, more, he needed more. 

“Does it feel good? I bet it does. She drives like a dream, so good I nearly came myself.”

_Shit._ Steve’s hips stuttered, his rhythm broken as he visualized Tony, rumpled and sprawled lazily in the driver’s seat, that utterly perverted mouth wide open as the filthiest sounds escaped Tony’s throat, one hand on the steering wheel and the other in his pants. 

Tony hummed lowly, a pleased sound in his ear that sent electricity down his spine. “Like that idea? You know, I was probably going to pull over and take care of myself before you caught me, Steve. Just unzip, run my hand down into my pants and get myself off real quick.” 

It was so hot outside. Or was it just him? Maybe it was just him. He was so hot; his skin was flushed and sweaty and his shirt was uncomfortable on his back and sweat beaded his brow and dripped onto the windshield as he thrust as much as Tony would allow him, his intentions utterly derailed once again by this infuriating _tease_.

“Would you like me to do that, Steve? I was going to fuck you, but you’re enjoying this so much--oh, that was a pretty sound, do it again--you’re enjoying this so much I wouldn’t want to deprive you. I could get back inside the car, let you watch me get myself off while you grind off on my S7.”

Tony played with his ass as he spoke, continuing to prod Steve’s prostate at intermittent moments, urging him towards the edge of another orgasm, and he was so close, he was so close, he--

Steve all but howled in frustration as Tony stopped and removed his fingers. 

He was going to _kill him._

“Was there something you wanted, Steve?” 

Tony knew good and hell well what he was doing, the rotten bastard. 

“ _Dammit Tony,”_ Steve’s voice was thick with frustration and straining with eagerness, “If you don’t get that in me _right now_ , I’ll drag you off to jail and--” Steve’s threat broke off into a low, halting grunt as Tony pressed into him, and even stretched and turned on as he was, he had to make himself relax and not clench up around the sudden intrusion. Tony was solicitous, rubbing his back and staying as still as he could. 

Steve trembled, intensely aware of that solid presence sitting rigid just past his opening, and how big it was. Oh, he’d had _some_ idea that Stark was packing some serious action--what trashy celeb gossip had already insinuated had been instantly confirmed by the up close and personal view he’d enjoyed once he’d gotten the man’s pants undone (who didn’t wear _underwear_ underneath an expensive suit like that?)--but it was another thing entirely to feel it so intimately _inside_ him. 

Steve’s fingers dug into the hood as Tony continued to soothe him, leaning flush against his back and pressing a kiss to his shoulder bone. “It’s alright, Steve, just relax around me, let me all the way in and I promise I’ll make it so good for you.” 

Steve took in a deep breath and nodded, exhaled as Tony took that as his cue to move forward. It went this way for a short while, Steve gulping down air and controlling his breathing in order to better handle the thick, delicious slide of Tony inside until he finally bottomed out, whispering a fervent string of curses under his breath. 

“Shit, you’re so tight, Steve, it feels like you might squeeze my dick off. Just, _fuck_ , just give me a moment.” They lay still against each other, letting the night breeze blow over them and then Tony was pulling back out and easing back into him, slowly at first, letting Steve adjust. Slowly but surely, the overwhelming feeling of intrusion was overridden with frissons of pleasure, and Steve relaxed even more, allowing Tony to move uninhibited. 

Tony continued to rock in and out of him, his pace unhurried but purposeful, a steady deep glide that built Steve’s pleasure upward and upward but still wasn't quite what he wanted. Tony fucked him almost aimlessly, as if climax was an unexpected but nice surprise, like finding the prize in a box of Cracker Jacks. 

Steve let out a frantic whine and scrabbled for purchase when Tony braced one clever hand on the back of his neck, the other low on his hip, and plowed into his ass even harder. He was pinned in place and unable to do anything except writhe helplessly against the sloping candy-red hood of the S7 as he sought a release that was tantalizingly just out of reach. Steve was halfway to plotting murder or screaming in frustration, or maybe outright begging if it would do him any good, and Tony was still moving at that same infuriatingly leisurely pace, and good God, he was going to _kill_ Tony, he was driving him crazy!

He could feel his pleasure cresting, but Tony was still avoiding his prostate, and the pressure and heat by themselves weren’t enough to push him past the point of no return. Steve finally surrendered, letting himself fall submissively into Tony’s rhythm, completely at his mercy and not quite sure if he was glad of it. 

“Oh _yes,_ darling, you’re taking me so well.” Tony relaxed his grip on his neck just enough to scritch lazily at the nape of his neck, running his fingers through precisely trimmed blond hair. Steve tried to reply, say _something_ , but succeeded only in producing a sex-hazed mumble, barely staying afloat in his own mind. He was too dizzy and lightheaded to form a coherent thought, much less dabble in _actual words._

“What was that, Steve, honey? Harder? Faster? _More?_ ” Tony had reached his left hand around to take Steve firmly in his grip, using the large amount of precome he was leaking to ease the winding slide up and down his cock. “Would you try to give me another ticket if I speed up, Steve? I can pay that one off too while you’re here?”

Good _Christ,_ this man...Steve’s mouth dropped open, his warm breath fogging up the cool glass of Tony’s windshield where his head rested as he panted for air, unable to entirely catch his breath between thrusts. It was almost overwhelming, the delicious burning ache of Tony’s dick inside him, the sensation threatening to utterly consume him at any moment. 

His thoughts were so muddled now that he was capable of only identifying abstractions. He was hot, so hot, and his uniform shirt was a torment, too heavy and snug on his body, and the harsh rub of the fabric against his sensitized flesh was driving him crazy. The cool night breeze, rich with crisp traces of pine, chilled the sweat on his exposed lower back and was a welcome relief as he rocked with the force of Tony’s thrusts. 

Blessedly, Tony finally shifted angle enough that his next thrust landed firm against Steve’s prostate and there was no keeping back the over-wrought cry that ripped out of his throat as his body sang electric and he tried to jolt straight out of his own skin. 

“Holy shit,” Tony murmured reverently and paused behind him. Steve whimpered, first missing the sensation and then fearfully, realizing that Tony was planning out his next wave of attack. It was going to be wonderfully horrible and Steve tried to steady himself for it, but it was useless. Tony was quicker, fiercely relentless, and Steve found himself screaming his pleasure into the night as Tony unerringly hit his prostate with every thrust. 

Tony worked over him, moving in him again and again, ruthlessly targeting the bundle of nerves that sent lightning through his veins and behind his eyes as he rubbed himself off against the supercar, lost between the sensation of warm metal and the heavy weight of Tony’s dick plunging deep inside him. It became all too much for him and he peaked and shattered, yelling his pleasure into the darkness. He couldn’t move, braced as he was against the Saleen; all he could do was shudder and gasp through his orgasm as his cock spasmed, leaking a steady stream of come onto the hood.

Tony laughed, a smug and sinister thing, and heaped obscene praise on his shoulders, telling Steve how he loved how beautifully wrecked he sounded, how the moonlight looked on his sweat dampened skin, how fucking tight he was, how hot it was that Steve was letting him do this, how great it felt, how Steve _owed_ _him now_ because he’d just had his car detailed and now he had All-American jizz all over that once-pristine finish and he was going to take it out of Steve’s ass, he hadn’t come yet and Steve had better hold on because he was _so_ fucked, and shit, Steve was barely even registering any of it because Tony hadn’t. Fucking. Stopped. 

The man had fucked him nigh-unto senseless and _kept going_ , fucking him even harder through his orgasm and past it into a brain-searing plateau of sensation that was simultaneously too much and not enough. Desire and lust and apprehension and pleasure sizzled within Steve and flashed through him like an explosion and he couldn’t come again, he couldn’t, _fuck_ he wanted to, he wanted it, _please he needed it,_ he didn’t, he couldn’t, _he_ _was going to_ and a wail of apprehension clawed its way up and out of him as he felt that all too familiar tension building within him more quick than he’d ever experienced before. Rational thought was a loss, but the words were suddenly _there,_ dropping from his lips like a pornographic stream-of-conscious. 

“Oh shit, oh fuck, Tony I can’t-- _hhhaaaa fuck_ , Tony _please, please, more, ugh, shit_ _holy shit_ ‘fucked to death on a sports car’ can’t be the sum of my life, holy shit, _harder, Tony, harder_.” 

Tony tutted and smacked Steve across the ass reprovingly. “ _Language_ , officer.” 

Steve flushed harder and moaned his pleasure with abandon as tears squeezed out of his clenched eyes, not sure if it was the reprimand or the sharp smack itself that pushed him that much closer to the edge of something _glorious._ He was sobbing now, entirely gone on the sensation and desperate for the fall. He wanted to come again so very badly, and it wasn’t fast enough, and it was _perfect_ and Steve’s world was fire and pleasure and the brilliant agony of mounting need. 

The car rocked and squeaked beneath them, suspension completely unsuited to the vigorous abuse they were putting it through, and Steve’s frantic cries and pleas were an obscene counterpoint to the ambient noise, making a ruin of the nighttime soundscape. 

Tony continued to thrust forcefully into him, but now each lengthy slide was accompanied by a sharp slap to his ass and Steve hadn’t been spanked since he was child and this was humiliatingly close to it and nothing at all like it as Tony’s calloused palm rubbed over the stinging handprint and soothed the ache into something warm and darkly sublime. Steve both dreaded and loved it. There was another slap, another caress, another, another, and Steve bucked back against Tony, determined to finish it because he couldn’t take it, he couldn’t, he _was_ because Tony wasn’t done yet and _God_ , _what the hell was this man’s stamina?_

“Oh fuck, listen to you, darling, howling my name and begging for it, fucking hell, come on, Sergeant, come on, Steve, I want to feel you break around me, you’re so fucking hot like this, what the hell even are you _doing_ with the highway patrol, you were made for sex, fucking _louder_ Steve, I want _all of Malibu_ to hear how fucked out you are, to know Tony Stark wrecked your hole .”

Oh. 

Fucking. 

_God._

Steve let his hands slide down the hood of the car until he could brace his weight against the heightened ridges that housed the headlights of the car, and began to thrust back against Tony, throwing his head back as deep, _obscenely breathy_ huffs of air were punched out of him by the deliciously hard fucking. 

The new angle was perfect for both of them, and, not one to waste an opportunity, Tony grasped him tighter around the hips with both hands and slammed into him all the harder _._ Steve saw stars as Tony proceeded to fuck him all but _through_ the car, their dirty moans and lusty gasps and wonderfully filthy grunts punctuated by the rhythmic squeaking of the car and the gentle rustling of the wind in the leaves of the trees around them. 

A particularly hard thrust left Steve keening, and Tony leaned over his back to place a teasingly soft kiss in the middle of his spine, on his right shoulder blade, at the hollow where neck met shoulder, lips and tongue wandering languidly over his body. There was a tantalizingly hot and wet trail traced from his neck to the shell of his ear, and then Tony’s seductively menacing voice washed over him, detailing all the ridiculously sinful things he wanted to do, _would do,_ if given even half a chance. 

It was too much and just enough and Steve shouted, bucking his hips and and writhing in Tony’s grasp as he spurted out across the hood of the Saleen, voice breaking into needy, pained whimpers as Tony continued to thrust into him, leaving him absolutely no way to escape the onslaught as Tony wrung him dry. A particularly strong jolt of pleasure flared up and over his nerves, not quite an orgasm, but just as intense. 

Tony let out a startled yelp as Steve clenched down on him, and that was it, it was all too much for him. Tony lost his rhythm, thrusting once, twice, and then cried out frantically as his own release dragged him down, coming with enough force that Steve could feel it even through the condom. 

When he finally came back to himself, it was to discover that Tony had stilled, and was running a gentle hand through his hair, softly massaging his scalp and murmuring soothing nonsense into his ear. 

“Fuck, that was hot, Steve. Are you okay, darling? It looked like you blew a dozen brain cells on that one…”

Steve drew in a ragged breath, then tried to turn around. Apparently realizing his intent, Tony pulled out of him with an apologetic stroke over his sorely abused hole and helped him steady himself on his feet. Finally face to face with Tony, Steve gripped him by the black silk tie and yanked him forward into a kiss, chaste at first but growing more and more fevered as Steve licked his way into Tony’s mouth, nibbling at the man’s lips and relentlessly trying to pull the air directly out of his body. 

Tony leaned into the kiss, moaning raggedly as he rutted against Steve’s thigh, holding his pants up with his free hand, thrilling in the last traces of aftershocks. Ever helpful, Steve dropped Tony’s tie and released him from the kiss, tucking Tony neatly back inside his pants and zipping them up. An idle thought crossed his mind about where the condom went, but Steve almost instantly decided he really didn’t want to know. Tony began to stoop down and search for Steve’s boot, return the favor, but Steve intercepted him with a hot and heavy kiss, as he pulled his uniform pants back up. 

They kissed a while longer as they got themselves back into some semblance of order, and once finished collecting themselves, Tony gave Steve one last kiss and stepped away. “You think you can handle that bike so soon, or should I give you a lift somewhere?”

Steve grinned, charmed at the courtesy. “I’ll be fine, Tony. You drive safe and stop that ridiculous speeding. I don’t want to get called out here to find a crew scraping you off the road.”

Tony shrugged, and ran a hand over the hood of his car. “My demon-girl here will take good--” Tony trailed off and looked at his hand in vague horror, casting about for something to use. Finding none, he sighed and then wiped it off on the grass. “My very next stop is a car wash.”

“It’s 3 am, Tony.” 

“I will drive through one of those gas station washes if I have to, Steve.”

Steve shook his head ruefully. “Sorry about that. Hell of a ride though.” Steve would definitely be trotting this little interlude out on his lonelier nights. 

“I can't believe you had all that in you, 5-0. Look me up sometime, why don’t you?” Tony grinned and winked at him before sliding back into his car. “Later, Officer Handsome!”

The car purred to life, and then Tony was off, driving too fast and leaving him in the proverbial dust. 

“Dammit, Stark!” Feeling a bit ridiculous at yelling at a car that was already whipping around the next turn, Steve shook his head ruefully as he walked back over to this bike, enjoying the hitch and ache that moved with him. He’d be fine in a few minutes. Steve settled and reached for his key, only to feel something pointy and rigid in his pocket. 

Frowning, Steve reached into his pocket for it, and returned with a glossy business card. The front said Stark Industries. Steve flipped the card over, and in hasty black cursive was a message. “You know who I am.” Below that, a phone number. 

Steve laughed, and tucked the business card into his wallet. 

Tony had been right; one time wouldn’t be enough. 


End file.
